


the cowherd and the weaver

by vonseal



Category: ASTRO (Band)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Gods & Goddesses, Angst, Chinese Mythology & Folklore, Fluff, Happy Ending, M/M, Romance, True Love
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-06-13
Updated: 2020-06-13
Packaged: 2021-03-04 03:54:06
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 11,219
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24707152
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/vonseal/pseuds/vonseal
Summary: a mortal cowherd falls in love with an immortal weaver. together, they fight against the gods themselves to allow their love to flourish forever.
Relationships: Kim Myungjun | MJ/Lee Dongmin | Cha Eunwoo
Comments: 18
Kudos: 46
Collections: Astro FicFest 2020





	the cowherd and the weaver

**Author's Note:**

> look at me actually writing a oneshot, whoa.
> 
> this is based off the chinese folklore of the cowherd and weaver girl! i definitely took liberties with it tho.
> 
> it was written for the Astro FicFest 2020. Prompt #100: cowherd and weavergirl au, celestial lovers that only meet once a year. to whoever requested this prompt, i hope it's satisfactory! i had a lot of fun writing it!

The first time Myungjun ever saw him, he was naked. His body lay there, submerged in the sparkling springs, surrounded by flowers flourishing up within the damp grounds and leafy trees made to hide his nudity from others. But Myungjun, spurred onward by the ethereal being that was before him, pushed passed the branches and came even closer.

He wasn’t quiet in the slightest. He stumbled, tripping over some roots, and fell into the dirt. He heard movement and he glanced up at the man, his face burning with shame. 

Yet, he couldn’t pull away. As they stared at each other, Myungjun found himself absolutely entranced by the gorgeous man before him. His skin was milky and bright, free of any calluses or scars of war. He had hair as dark as the night sky, so perfect that Myungjun was certain it was not hair protruding from his head, but silk. And his eyes — his eyes held within them all of the stars from galaxies beyond. 

He spoke. The man spoke to Myungjun. He had a deep, rich tone to his voice and Myungjun couldn’t comprehend what on earth was being said. All he knew was that he loved this man.

“May I help you?” was what Myungjun was finally able to discern.

He picked himself up, swallowing back all of his nerves and fear. “I apologize,” he murmured, bowing his head. “I was merely curious.”

The man chuckled. “Curious?” he repeated. “What were you curious about?”

Myungjun was uncertain of how to respond, so he merely gestured toward the man.

“Me?” The man sounded shocked. “Why _me?_ ”

 _Why not you?_ was what Myungjun longed to say, but he bit his tongue. He had a habit of blurting out whatever lay on his mind, regardless of how necessary it was. Not now, though. Not in the presence of such a magnificent person. He would think his words through and try his best not to make a fool of himself.

“I have...I have never seen a person as…” He trailed off. Were there any words to describe this man? Even _perfect_ seemed to be too small, too insignificant, to truly grasp his beauty. So Myungjun gave another gesture, his hand dropping to his side lamely.

The man took a few seconds to conjure up a response. “Who are you?”

This was something Myungjun knew, something he _could_ answer. “Myungjun. I’m a cowherd.” 

“A cowherd?” The man sounded amused. He looked amused, too, those starry eyes twinkling with delight. “I’ve not met a cowherd before. Not here, at least. Tell me, what were you doing here?”

“I’ve gotten lost,” Myungjun replied. “I was looking for my oxen, but I was drawn here.” _I was drawn by your beauty_ , he wanted to say, but he learned how to keep such thoughts to himself for now.

“Drawn here?” 

“You must enjoy repeating me,” Myungjun accused, then shut his mouth. Well, he had _almost_ learned to keep such thoughts to himself. Perhaps his tongue was trickier than he imagined it to be.

Fortunately for him, the man laughed. “You are quite amusing for a cowherd,” the man said, giggling behind his hands. Myungjun could only watch him in awe. “Fetch me my clothes, cowherd.”

“I enjoy the view, though,” said Myungjun, then he grimaced. “Oh. Sorry. My apologies.”

If anything, it made the man laugh even harder. He clutched onto his stomach as such exuberant laughter spilled from his lips. In between his laughter, he managed to gasp out, “Myungjun! Myungjun, you are _charming!_ ”

Myungjun didn’t think he was so charming. He was forgetting his manners. He ought to know how to speak in front of this beautiful man, and yet he was rendered to petty quips or else silence. He hated how he reacted when faced with someone he desired, and so he looked away, feeling quite humiliated.

The man’s laughter died down. After a few more chuckles, he seemed to compose himself, and he asked, “Would you like to know my name?”

Perhaps not all hope was lost. Myungjun looked back at him with wide eyes. “Might I?”

The man nodded. “Dongmin. I am a weaver.”

“A weaver?” Myungjun repeated. He glanced towards Dongmin’s hands. No wonder his fingers were so elegant. No wonder they were so long. Myungjun longed to see all that Dongmin had made, all that he had woven with such lovely, talented hands.

“You act as though you’ve never seen a weaver.”

“I’ve never seen one of such beauty.”

The words spilled out before he could stop them. He blushed; Dongmin blushed all the more.

He tried to save himself the embarrassment. “What I mean to say,” he started, clearing his throat, “is that it is...it is not often I come across—”

“I’d prefer those words to mean what I believe them to mean,” Dongmin interrupted. He stood. Water cascaded off his form and Myungjun caught only a glimpse of him before quickly covering his eyes.

He didn’t know what to say. He didn’t know how to _breathe_ , even, let alone how to talk. Words failed him. Actions failed him. He could only stand there, hands across his eyes, as Dongmin walked to find his clothes.

There was rustling. Myungjun peeked out behind his fingers. Dongmin was changing into his clothes. He wore an ornate hanbok. It was the color of the sky, a light blue that made Dongmin shine like the star he was. Myungjun suddenly felt ratty next to him, his own clothes dirtied from days spent in the midst of cattle.

Dongmin picked up a scarf next. It was woven, and Myungjun couldn’t help but ask, “Did you make that?”

Dongmin glanced over at him and smiled. “Were you watching me change?”

“I asked if you made that,” Myungjun snapped, hopeful that the blush on his face was not returning.

The weaver laughed and nodded his head. “I did. I don’t often make anything for myself. It’s easier to give it all away, you see. I have done it for so long that the thought of holding onto woven goods drives me insane. But I liked this scarf. Is it not lovely?” When he displayed it, Myungjun was finally able to examine the pattern, the gentle mix of deep reds and purples, and the way the darker lines were woven to create the resemblance of a bird.

“It’s lovely,” Myungjun admitted. He stepped closer and stretched a hand out. “May I touch it?”

“Why?”

“It looks soft. I’d like to feel it, if you do not mind.”

Dongmin examined him, curious for a moment, but soon relented with another smile. “I don’t mind.”

Myungjun moved even closer. He could smell Dongmin now, and he wondered why his scent was so cozy. He smelled of fresh linen, of laundry that had dried in the sun for hours, and Myungjun hoped that _he_ didn’t smell too terrible.

He stopped just short of touching the scarf, realizing he had not bathed in days. He must reek. His fingers, too, were dirty, with mud caked underneath his fingernails and dried blood smeared across his hand from the thorns he had tugged on too harshly.

He withdrew his hand and took a deep breath. “I apologize.”

“For what?”

“I shouldn’t touch it. I’m...I’m dirty.”

Dongmin hesitated briefly, but then suddenly wrapped his scarf around Myungjun’s neck. Myungjun panicked, trying his best to rip the scarf away from his filthy body, but Dongmin held it in place. 

“It looks far better on you, anyway.”

“Dongmin, please! I’ll ruin it!”

Dongmin grinned. “Keep it. Please. I...I like seeing it on you.”

Those words caused Myungjun to freeze. He stared up at Dongmin, realizing now that Dongmin’s cheeks were flushed and his gaze was averted. Despite the grin, it was clear Dongmin felt embarrassed to have admitted such a thing.

Myungjun gingerly touched the scarf. It was soft under his dirty fingers, and he whispered, “Thank you.”

“You’re welcome.” Dongmin took a step back. “I...ought to go now. I have to...I have things to do. And you need to find your lost oxen, correct?”

Myungjun had forgotten all about the oxen. He wished he didn’t have to go. He wished he could leave his cattle behind and run away with Dongmin. But they had different lives and he couldn’t allow himself to get caught up in a one-sided romance so easily.

So he nodded and muttered, “Right.”

Before he could leave, Dongmin swooped forward and planted a kiss onto Myungjun’s forehead. He drew back, even redder than he had been earlier, and stammered out, “Until we-we meet again, cowherd.”

He scurried off then, leaving Myungjun standing behind in shock and confusion.

The most beautiful man he had ever seen just kissed him.

The love that rose up in Myungjun’s heart was impossible to contain.

⋆★⋆★⋆★⋆★⋆★⋆★⋆★⋆★⋆

The second time Myungjun ever saw him, _he_ was naked. Inspired by the man and his smell of clean linen and his scarf of silk, Myungjun decided to take more time to bathe himself. He scrubbed hard at his fingers and face with a harsh soap made of lye, and he shivered when he would exit the springs, his clothes usually still drying from the wash he gave them, too.

And so it was there, in those same springs, that he heard the deep, rich tone cry out, “Cowherd!”

Myungjun spun around. Dongmin stood nearby, waving like a child and grinning as if he had received all the riches in the world. “I did not expect to see you here!”

Myungjun cowered. He wanted to cover himself, but there was nothing around to grab. As if sensing his reluctance to be seen, Dongmin waved a hand. “Oh, please, do not fret on my behalf. I will close my eyes if you wish that of me.”

“I do.”

Dongmin blinked and sat down on the bank nearby. His grin faded. “But you saw me naked. Isn’t it only fair that I—”

“I’ll splash you with water if you don’t close your eyes,” Myungjun warned.

“As if that would make me do anything.”

He didn’t listen, and so Myungjun took the chance and splashed water his way. It caused Dongmin to sputter and jump backward, nearly tripping over a stump as he gazed down at his clothes and examined it for signs of damage. 

When he realized that water could not hurt him, he looked back at Myungjun with a challenging glint in his eyes. “Two can play at that game,” he said, and reached into the water to splash Myungjun.

Myungjun shielded himself before laughing, “I’m already wet! What good does that do?”

But Dongmin was undeterred. He continued splashing water at Myungjun until Myungjun returned the favor. After a few minutes, Dongmin was just as soaked as Myungjun was, and he grimaced as he looked down at his drenched hanbok.

“Well,” he murmured, “it can’t be helped. I was going to bathe today, anyway.” And then, without signaling his intentions, he removed his clothing.

Myungjun hurriedly looked away, his heart beating fast as Dongmin slipped into the water. 

“It’s chilly today!” Dongmin exclaimed, a tilt of laughter in his voice.

Myungjun spared a glance over. “The season is changing,” he replied. “Fall is upon us.”

“I do like Fall. I love watching the trees change colors. Soon enough, I suppose even the trees here will become orange and yellow and red. Their leaves will begin to fall and we shall be covered with the blessings of Autumn.”

“But the flowers will die,” Myungjun pointed out.

Dongmin frowned. “Yes,” he agreed, “but they shall be reborn when Spring arrives.”

Dongmin was interesting. Myungjun liked talking to him. Indeed, though their conversation had hardly begun, Myungjun was already forgetting that they were both nude and taking a bath together.

“Tell me, Myungjun,” Dongmin continued, “what do you do during Winter?”

“The same as I do during all of the other seasons,” Myungjun replied. “I care for the cows. I keep them warm, holed away in a barn. I feed them and love them and offer them to those who are in need.”

Dongmin gave a small hum. “I feel bad for the cows, sometimes,” he said, “for they’ll die to feed another.”

“Just as the flowers die in Spring,” Myungjun agreed, “and then they are reborn. My cows will always return to me as young calves. They hold no grudges. They’re darling.”

The smile Dongmin gave him was serene, sweet, calm. “You’re kind,” Dongmin murmured. “Not many of us in the heavens are as kind as you.”

“The heavens?” Myungjun inquired, though he knew then, from the look Dongmin gave him, what Dongmin meant. “You’re...not human.”

“No.”

“You’re…” Myungjun blinked. “A god?”

“Gracious, no. I’m a weaver. I’m no god. I’m simply a being of _that_ world. And you are a being of _this_ world. Our paths crossed and I highly doubt the gods meant for this to happen.”

Myungjun wasn’t sure what to say. He had met other celestial beings. They made themselves known sometimes, appearing to humans to offer sage advice or else divine punishment. Never before had he encountered one like Dongmin, however. Never before had he seen one so beautiful.

“If it happened,” Myungjun started, thinking his words through for once in his life, “then surely it was meant to happen.”

Dongmin was silent for a moment, and then he muttered, “Fate isn’t always up to the gods. Sometimes I think it is up to us.”

“It still doesn’t mean it _shouldn’t_ have happened. I think our meeting is a very good thing. Besides, it’s not like anyone can tell you not to meet with me.”

“I don’t think you understand how the gods are.”

Myungjun pursed his lips. He couldn’t think of anything to say to that.

“Are you ever ordered around by the other humans?” Dongmin asked, his voice suddenly quiet. He spoke in hardly more than a whisper, as if afraid to talk loudly.

Myungjun stared over at him, curious. “No,” he responded. “There’s no one who can order around a cowherd, though. We keep to ourselves. We herd cows. That’s it.” Dongmin looked a bit uncomfortable with the answer, and so Myungjun asked, “Why? Are _you_ ordered around?”

“Sometimes.”

“That’s ridiculous. You don’t look like someone who can be ordered around.” Myungjun hummed and leaned back against the rocks. “Next time someone orders you, do not listen. You’re a grand person, Dongmin, and I don’t think you ought to listen to commands.”

Dongmin sighed. “I suppose you’re right. It’s so daunting, though, to disobey orders.”

“It’s not as if you’re shy. You seemed rather bold when we last met. Even now, you took off your clothes and have joined me. You don’t care if I ogle at you.”

“Well, I _want_ you to ogle at me. I enjoy your gaze upon my body.”

Myungjun felt his cheeks warm up. Why was he reduced to nothing more than a stammering boy when he was around Dongmin? He hated the way his emotions reacted to all of Dongmin’s words.

“Pretend, then, that you also wish to ogle at them.”

Dongmin giggled. “I couldn’t.”

“Do it.”

“All of the other weavers? The older ones, too? At the celestial beings and powerful gods?”

“Ogle at them as if they had my looks.”

Dongmin laughed even louder and shook his head. “I can’t!”

“Of course you can! If you try hard enough—”

“But none of them will ever look as breathtaking as you!”

Myungjun lost his words. He didn’t know what to say. His emotions took control, seizing him up, and he scrambled to find something comprehensible to speak of. All that he could produce, however, was a small, “Oh.”

Then he splashed Dongmin with water. Sweet words were forgotten as they fought, the spring their weapons, the laughter their battle cries. 

Myungjun liked being breathtaking for Dongmin. Even if they were never meant to have met, Myungjun was glad they did.

⋆★⋆★⋆★⋆★⋆★⋆★⋆★⋆★⋆

The third time they met, neither of them were naked. In fact, they weren’t anywhere near the springs. Myungjun was closing up the pasture for the evening, his cattle safely put away, when he felt hands wrap around him from behind. He panicked, calling out briefly for help, until a deep, rich voice whispered in his ear, “Myungjun, it’s me.”

Myungjun tore free from the hands and spun around, breathing harshly. In the dark of the night, he could just make out Dongmin. “Dongmin?” he whispered, as if ensuring it was his friend before him.

Dongmin’s starry eyes were uncharacteristically dull. He wore a solemn expression as he caressed Myungjun’s cheek. 

“I had to come and see you.”

“Why?”

“I...I don’t know.” Dongmin displayed an insecurity Myungjun had never seen before. It was a new side to his friend and Myungjun missed the old Dongmin. He wanted the Dongmin who wore confidence on his sleeve, the Dongmin who splashed him playfully with water, the Dongmin who laughed easily at all of his words. He didn’t like this scared Dongmin. “I just...I had to come and see you.”

He embraced Myungjun suddenly. They had never been so close before and Myungjun found it exhilarating. He came up to Dongmin’s shoulder, much shorter than the tall, celestial being before him. Tentatively, he wrapped his own arms around Dongmin, hopeful that the other wouldn’t pull back.

Dongmin stayed where he was and sighed. “My brothers and sisters have learned of our meetings. I let it slip to them. They disapprove. They reminded me that the Goddess of the Heavens will surely disapprove, too.”

Myungjun swallowed thickly. “How can they disapprove?” he asked. “Is meeting with me a sin?”

“No.”

“Then you have nothing to worry—”

“Falling in love with you is a sin, however.”

Myungjun tensed. He hadn’t expected that. He hadn’t expected to hear such words fall forth from Dongmin’s pretty lips. His heart pounded in his chest and he pulled back slightly, gazing into Dongmin’s frightened eyes.

“Dongmin, what did you say?”

At least Dongmin did not shy away from what he had spoken. He repeated himself, fingers digging into Myungjun’s dirty clothing. “I am in love with you, Myungjun. And I cannot be. We are not allowed to fall in love with mortals. It is a union that cannot exist. But…” He pulled Myungjun back into his chest and murmured, “I will never stop loving you.”

“How can you say that?” Myungjun asked, his voice muffled in Dongmin’s pretty hanbok. “We only just met! You can’t say that you love me when we hardly know each other!”

“I know you so much better than the others in heaven. They are cruel and wicked. They care not for the simple things in life. They are filled with greed and lust. And you, down here on Earth...you’re simple, Myungjun. You talk with me of the seasons and of flowers. You care for your cows though you know they must die for the sake of others. You speak your mind, and your mind is pure and kind. You’re the most humble person I’ve met. I love that about you. And I love your pretty eyes and your beautiful lips. I think you look more like a god than anyone up in the heavens.”

Myungjun finally managed to pull back from Dongmin. He took a deep breath and willed himself not to tear up. Nobody had ever uttered such precious words to Myungjun. Nobody had ever complimented every last inch of him. He wanted to soak in the praises and allow Dongmin to lavish him for the years to come, but he instead blurted out, “Doesn’t love take time?”

“Time.” Dongmin scoffed. “I’ve waited centuries to meet someone I love. I need no more time. I have found the person my heart is fated to be with.”

“Dongmin, I...I don’t know if it’s _love_. Isn’t it too soon?”

“The first time you saw me...the very first time, did you not feel something?” Dongmin asked, his gaze pleading with Myungjun to agree. “I know you did, for I felt it, too.”

Myungjun couldn’t deny that he had strong feelings for Dongmin from the start. Everything about Dongmin was intoxicating. 

“Yes,” he murmured, nodding his head. “But you said...this can’t be. If the gods are against it, shall we really go against the _gods_?”

“I’m willing,” Dongmin replied. “If it means I can be with you, I will take the entire punishment. I will accept it valiantly, for it means I could’ve at least spent another second in your embrace.”

Myungjun bit on his lip as fear flooded into his heart. Was it possible to sneak around the gods, to love Dongmin when it was clear they shouldn’t be together? Was it alright for a mortal like him to disregard all heavenly notions and remain beside the one he loved?

He ought to refuse. If he refused, then Dongmin could return to the heavens and Myungjun could stay here. Their lives would never again intertwine. They would resume as normal and neither of them would suffer.

Oh, but Dongmin _was_ intoxicating. He was the poison Myungjun longed to consume. And if Myungjun should die, if the gods should smite him down, then at least he would be by Dongmin’s side.

He stood on his toes and wrapped his hands around Dongmin’s cheeks. It took only a second for him to lean in closer and then their lips collided.

Dongmin had his answer.

Myungjun was willing to stake his life on their love.

⋆★⋆★⋆★⋆★⋆★⋆★⋆★⋆★⋆

The fourth time they met—

The fifth time they met—

The eighth time they met—

The fourteenth time they met—

Myungjun began to lose count as the days stretched on and on. When Dongmin ascended from the heavens to meet with him, time seemed to lose all meaning. They played together and talked together and ate together and slept together. Myungjun had never felt so alive before, cocooned in Dongmin’s love. One day he would burst from such affection, so he told Dongmin as they stared up at the night sky.

“I’ll explode. Like a firecracker, Min. I’ll burst into pieces, into flaming pieces, because I cannot contain the love I have stored inside for you.”

Dongmin rolled over, his nose pressing against Myungjun’s neck. His nose was cold and Myungjun gave a small screech, scrambling to get away. But Dongmin held him down and kissed at his neck, even as Myungjun laughed and struggled in his grip.

“Don’t explode,” Dongmin finally muttered. “I don’t think I could handle it if you exploded.”

“Don’t love me so much and maybe I won’t explode.”

“Oh, how on earth could I ever hold back my love?” Dongmin asked. “It’s akin to asking me not to breathe; I must breathe, and with every breath I take, I must love you. There’s no other way to live, Junnie.”

Myungjun smiled. He turned and planted a kiss onto Dongmin’s nose, trying his best to warm up his lover, and then he whispered, “You have to sing out your love. Only then will I believe you.”

Dongmin came up with several ridiculous songs after that. He brought his haegeum with him, too, and though he played beautifully, his singing and lyrics were questionable. Oftentimes he sang songs that were too simple, songs that caused Myungjun to say, “A child could come up with something better.” Other times the songs were complex and had no rhythm, and Myungjun would scold him all the more, saying, “You must make it make _sense_ , Dongmin, or else it’s a poem and not a song.”

Dongmin would weave for Myungjun, too. He would sit at the loom and tell grand stories of his time in heaven. Myungjun would watch his hands move deftly across the strands of silk and linen, creating gorgeous patterns on tapestries and blankets and shawls. Myungjun’s small hut was soon filled with ornate fabrics and he treasured each and every one of them.

When Myungjun was out with his cattle, Dongmin never once complained. He would help with odd chores around the pasture, with moving hay or assisting with the birthing process or cleaning dung off the barn floors. Myungjun didn’t wish for him to become involved in such labor, but Dongmin claimed not to mind. In fact, Dongmin would often push _him_ aside, zealous in his efforts to prove himself useful, to show he was more than a pretty celestial weaver.

The gods were unaware of their liaisons, so Dongmin explained. His brothers and sisters kept their secret and refused to talk of the forbidden love between a cowherd and a weaver. Dongmin once told Myungjun, as they lay in each other's arms, that the gods might _never_ figure it out.

“Wouldn’t that be grand?” Dongmin asked. “Wouldn’t it be grand if we could stay together until death drags us both away?”

Myungjun yawned. He was tired. He didn’t like such serious talk, either. “You’re immortal,” he reminded Dongmin. “It will not drag _you_ away.”

“I’m not necessarily immortal. There are many ways for a celestial being to die. And when _you_ die, then I shall die, too. I’ll not live a single second unless I can live with you.”

Myungjun believed him. There was no reason not to. Still, the thought of death made him uneasy, and so he pulled Dongmin close to his bare chest. 

“Shh,” he hushed him. “We’re alive. No need to talk of such dismal things.”

Dongmin nodded his head and closed his eyes. “Right. We’re alive now. And we’re together now, and tomorrow, and for the years to come.”

Myungjun was excited for those years. Every year spent by Dongmin’s side would be fantastic.

⋆★⋆★⋆★⋆★⋆★⋆★⋆★⋆★⋆

“You’re pushing it,” Myungjun commented, nudging one of his cows aside in order to properly look upon his lover. “You’ve spent three full nights down here. Won’t they miss you in the heavens? Won’t they inquire as to where you’ve gone?”

Dongmin stood near one of the calves he helped to birth. The little thing made a small noise as Dongmin rubbed its head. “My siblings are keeping our secret. And as long as I continue to weave down here and finish my work, then how can they complain? I am doing nothing wrong.”

“Our relationship is wrong. You know this. You were told this. You told _me_ this.” Myungjun glanced over to the sun, watching it set behind the treeline positioned beyond his field. 

“Do you not want me here?” Dongmin asked. He sounded hurt.

Myungjun couldn’t help but snort. “Don’t be ridiculous. Of course I want you here. I always want you beside me. I just can’t help but feel uneasy. If the gods find out, will they punish you?”

Dongmin bit down on his lip. “Yes,” he confirmed.

“Then you—”

“I’ve told you that I won’t live unless I can live with you. Even if they punish me, I will find my way back to you. I’ll always return, Jun.”

Myungjun felt his lips tighten in a straight line. “Regardless, I’d rather not take the chance. You can come back to visit me later. If we have a few lengthy periods away from one another, all will be fine. You’ll return to my arms and I’ll welcome you warmly. I think, though, that you need to spend time in the heavens.”

With a frown, Dongmin nodded his head. He pushed the young calf aside and murmured, “I suppose you are correct. If they see me in the heavens, then they will not think anything is wrong.”

“I can take you there.”

Dongmin blinked. “Where? To the heavens?”

He sounded confused. He sounded shocked. Myungjun nodded with confidence. “I will go with you. I can come back, right? I’ll drop you off at heaven’s door and then return to my hut.”

“Mortals cannot go into the heavens,” Dongmin pointed out. “It’s inaccessible.”

“Well…” Myungjun pursed his lips. “I’d like to take you to whatever point I need to be at before—”

“Don’t worry yourself,” Dongmin teased, a grin lighting up his face. He looked so handsome when he smiled, his eyes bright and his smile gorgeous. Myungjun liked to stare at him in those moments, to admire his happiness, to let such emotions seep into his own heart. “I can make it back alright. Shall I help you put away the cattle?”

Myungjun nodded his head, a sigh escaping his lips. “I suppose if I cannot walk you home, then I’ll at least spend as much time with you beforehand as possible. Let’s move slowly, then.”

And so they moved slowly, leisurely, talking as they herded Myungjun’s cows back to the main pasture, where Myungjun could keep them protected from the harsh elements the world had to offer them. Dongmin kept by the side of his favorite calf, the little creature nudging him along from time to time. Myungjun found it adorable; even more so when Dongmin leaned up to him and whispered, “She wants me to stay.”

“She’s a cow. She doesn’t know what she wants.”

“She’s begging me to stay with you for another night.” Dongmin wrapped his arms around Myungjun’s waist. Though they still had much to do, Myungjun didn’t wish to push him away. “Shall I obey her wishes? Shall I test the heavens?”

Myungjun inhaled sharply. “Don’t you dare test the heavens.”

“I want to.”

“I’ll smack you if you do.”

“I’d rather be smacked around than to return to a place without your presence.” 

Myungjun wished Dongmin could stay with him. Myungjun wished they were merely two mortals who had met, two mortals who could spend the rest of their lives together. However, Dongmin was a being of a different world and he wasn’t able to make a life on Earth. Would the gods torture him if he was found out? How great would his punishment be? What tragedies would fall upon him should his secret lay out in the open?

Myungjun grew wrought with worry, and he grabbed Dongmin’s arm, stopping him in his tracks.

Dongmin stared at him in surprise. “Myungjun?”

“I cannot be with you in the heavens. You’re not wrong. But…” He tugged his headband from his forehead, letting his hair fall freely around his face, unruly bangs curling outwards as he folded the piece of fabric and set it in Dongmin’s hands. “Here. Take this. It’s not much, but since you’ve given me your scarf, then you’ll have this to remember me by. That way, as you waste away in the heavens, you won’t be as alone.”

Dongmin was gentle with the headband, though it had nothing of sentimental value to Myungjun. It was simply a piece of torn fabric, something made to keep the sweat from dripping into his eyes and to keep his hair out of the way. Still, the way Dongmin touched it made it seem to be worth more than it ever had been. 

“Jun,” Dongmin murmured, “you don’t need to give anything to me.”

“I don’t have much, but I at least have enough fabric to make another band,” Myungjun joked. He shoved Dongmin’s shoulder. “Go. Go back to the heavens. Come to me in a few days, when you’ve made your presence known, when no one will think the wiser.”

Dongmin leaned over to kiss Myungjun, a soft, gentle exchange that left Myungjun beaming.

“I love you, Myungjun,” Dongmin whispered.

Myungjun kissed him again, his words lost as they embraced.

 _I love you, Dongmin_.

⋆★⋆★⋆★⋆★⋆★⋆★⋆★⋆★⋆

The scorching heat of summer was unbearable. Myungjun felt drenched in his own sweat, day after day, and he knew he stunk of cattle. It was a wonder Dongmin wanted to be near him. Dongmin never sweat and he never smelled unpleasant. He was like a rose, a flower that could not be sullied, and Myungjun found himself growing embarrassed for his own mortal issues.

“Don’t kiss me,” he warned, drawing back from Dongmin’s affections. “I reek.”

Dongmin leaned in to sniff him. Myungjun grimaced and shoved past his lover to continue his work, putting hay out for the cows to chew on.

“I don’t think you smell any different,” Dongmin commented.

“Which means I _always_ reek.”

“You never reek. I wouldn’t be around you if you did.”

“Don’t lie to me.”

Dongmin sighed. “You’re much too self-conscious, love. If you feel so strongly about it, why don’t we go bathe in the springs?” His eyes were alight with joy. “We haven’t done that in such a long time!”

Myungjun wanted to. He wanted to feel that crisp water over his skin, to watch it wash away the dirt and mud that had been caked upon his limbs for days. But then he looked over at his cows, flicking flies off their ears, and he grumbled, “I need to do work.”

“Let me help you, then. Two of us will make it go by much quicker.”

Myungjun didn’t want to reject help, and so they worked together until the sun hung high in the sky and Myungjun panted out of exhaustion.

Dongmin still looked spectacular, and Myungjun cursed him.

“You celestial beings are magnificent,” he muttered as Dongmin dragged him to the springs, leaving his cattle behind. “You wouldn’t be able to pass your secrets over to me, would you?”

Dongmin laughed, a rich chortle that shook Myungjun to the core. “I wish,” he teased. “But I’d much rather look as beautiful as _you_ , Myungjun.”

“Not all of us can be born perfect.”

Dongmin laughed again, louder this time, and hugged Myungjun close once they had arrived at the springs. They embraced briefly, until Myungjun grew tired of his damp clothing. Only when they had undressed and stepped into the water did Dongmin speak again.

“The Goddess of the Heavens has been inquiring of my location.”

Myungjun’s blood ran cold. He had expected a trip to the springs to be relaxing. He hadn’t expected Dongmin to suddenly announce such a thing. 

“What does that mean?” he asked, fearful of the answer.

Dongmin didn’t look over at him. He leaned against the rocks and stared ahead. “Nothing, as of right now. It’s possible She is suspicious, but She cannot prove anything. And my siblings are still ensuring that She does not find out the truth. Nothing will happen. Nothing will come of this.”

Myungjun wasn’t so sure.

“Dongmin, if it means you will be punished, I don’t want you down here anymore!”

“And how happy would you be if I were to disappear forever?” Dongmin asked him, finally glancing over.

Myungjun squeezed his eyes shut. He didn’t want to look at the desperation, the helplessness, the accusation in Dongmin’s own gaze. “I…” he started, attempting to lie. The lie wouldn’t come, and he whispered, “I would hate it. If you left me, I would hate it. I would never feel happy again, I should think. I would try my best to find a way to get back to you, to save you, to bring you down with me so we can live forever and ever in peace. I would come for you, too, if you were ever in trouble. I would come and fetch you from the heavens.”

“I wish you could.” Dongmin sighed, drawing his knees up closer to him. “I wish humans were allowed into the heavens. We don’t allow mortals, unfortunately. Animals are granted presence, even, for feasts or entertainment, but mortals are barred from ever entering the gates.” His jaw tightened momentarily, then he said, voice filled with determination, “If I was a god, I would change that. I would allow you inside. You would live with me, in my chambers, forever. You could bring your cows; I could weave. We would be happy, Myungjun. We would be immortal and our love, too, would be immortal.”

It sounded like a lovely dream. Myungjun frowned and ran his fingers through his hair. “Could you ever become a god?”

“Unlikely.” Dongmin fell into Myungjun’s side and whined a bit. “I would try for you, however.”

“Don’t be such a child,” Myungjun chastised, now smoothing out Dongmin’s hair. “I’m happy as is. You visit me whenever you can, and we reside in peace and harmony in those moments we have together. For now, I think that’s fine.”

“You are too easily pleased. I could do more for you, you know.” Dongmin began to plant kisses across Myungjun’s face. One for his forehead, one for his eyelid, one for his nose. As he kissed, he said, “I could hide you for a short time. I could figure out a way to make you immortal, or to make myself mortal. I could wage a war with the gods to get you by my side. I could hide—”

Myungjun quieted Dongmin with a soft kiss. He caressed his lover’s face and repeated himself. “For now, this is fine.”

“Is it? Really?”

“It is, for me. I’m happy. When you’re by my side, I’m happy. And when you’re in heaven, I’m happy because I know you shall soon come back to visit me.”

Dongmin still didn’t seem entirely convinced, but he at least fell silent and allowed Myungjun to kiss him even more.

Myungjun didn’t want to think of the future. The present was fine as it was.

⋆★⋆★⋆★⋆★⋆★⋆★⋆★⋆★⋆

The Summer months waned into Fall. A cool breeze crossed the fields and Myungjun sat beneath a tree, watching his cattle graze leisurely about the pasture.

He had not seen Dongmin for a few weeks.

A few days of his absence was unsurprising. Dongmin had to convince the others in heaven that he was there, that he was well, that he wasn’t getting into any trouble at all. He would always return, however, and stay by Myungjun’s side for a bit longer.

But now it had been _weeks_. That was very much unlike Dongmin.

Every single day, Myungjun had made his way to the springs. He had bathed and watched, waiting for Dongmin to appear. _Cowherd_ , was what Dongmin would call him, and Myungjun would make a quip right back, and then they would devolve into giggles.

Dongmin never did come.

As Autumn made his presence known, Myungjun found himself wrapping up in that woven scarf, where the patterned birds joyfully flew with no cares in the world. Myungjun stared at those birds more often than not, always wondering what life would be like if he was a bird. He would be free, wouldn’t he, to go and visit Dongmin? They could fly together, side by side, nary a care in the world. There would be no obligations, nothing tying them down, no rules of mortals and immortals. They would simply _be_.

He cried sometimes as the day gave way to night, as his cows lay down to sleep. He would bawl into his hands, praying to the Goddess of the Heavens, begging Her to show him mercy and kindness, to allow Dongmin back to his arms. But the Goddess never listened to him. She kept silent, and so Myungjun remained alone.

He often looked up into the clouds, wondering if he could ever catch a glimpse of Dongmin’s beautiful face. Surely Dongmin must be plotting to return to Earth. Surely Dongmin must be planning to return to _him_. Surely Dongmin would not give up so easily.

But even if Dongmin tried his best, he would be unable to break through a god’s mighty power. Even true love was not enough to withstand the immortal might the gods possessed. 

And so Myungjun’s Autumn stretched into Winter, and with the snow came loneliness. 

Dongmin was truly gone.

⋆★⋆★⋆★⋆★⋆★⋆★⋆★⋆★⋆

He sat in the dimly lit barn, wrapped in a threadbare coat and Dongmin’s lovely scarf. Pieces of the scarf were worn from his fingers. He rubbed on the fabric as often as he could, as if doing so would call Dongmin to him. Dongmin never did come, but Myungjun never did stop asking.

He asked, and he rubbed. He rubbed, and he asked.

“His punishment must be truly awful,” he whispered to his cows. Most of them remained asleep. Only one stared back at him, large, dark eyes analyzing his every movement. 

Myungjun looked back to the cow. It was Dongmin’s favorite, the young calf that had grown throughout the seasons. Myungjun smiled at it. “Do you miss him, too?” he asked. 

The cow didn’t understand, but she also didn’t look away.

“I miss him so terribly. I feel like I’ve been torn apart.” He bit down on his lip and lowered his gaze until he could stare upon the patterned birds. “I was never given the chance to say goodbye. He promised to return and he never did.”

The cow gave a soft moo, as if sympathizing with Myungjun’s words. Myungjun felt tears spring to his eyes and he choked out a laugh. “And now, this is what I’m reduced to. I talk to cows. I have no one else. I only have the cows. And you...you have it better than I do. Cows are allowed in the heavens. _You_ could go and see Dongmin. No one would stop a cow.”

No one would ever stop a cow. Animals were allowed into the heavens. Humans were not.

Myungjun blinked away his tears. Animals were allowed into the heavens. Humans were not.

Animals were _allowed_.

He scrambled up, the scarf falling from his hands, and he hurried over to his cows. _They_ could go to the heavens. Somehow, someway, he could find Dongmin through his cows. But _how?_ He couldn’t go with them; the gods would notice him too quickly. 

He remembered hearing about certain war tactics, though. With tiger skin, the soldiers would disguise their horses and put fear in the enemy. Their horses were not tigers, but they would be treated as such.

Myungjun stared upon his cattle. Would he dare try it? Would he dare to test the wisdom of the gods? 

But it was the only way to find Dongmin, to either receive closure or drag his beloved back into his arms. 

“I apologize,” he murmured as he grabbed onto Dongmin’s favorite cow. The young creature followed him with great obedience. Even as he took her to be butchered, she trusted his every last movement. Even when he yanked back her head and took his ax, the cow stayed still.

He sliced its neck and she bled out, the life leaving her eyes. He remembered instructing Dongmin how to help her, as a little calf, how to coax her away from her mother, how to shower her with love. And now she was dead, laying in a pool of blood on the floor, and Myungjun cried.

“I’m sorry,” he whispered to the cow, begging for its forgiveness. “I’m so sorry. I have to do this. I have to find Dongmin.”

He could not allow emotions to overtake him so easily. He wiped his face and got to work, skinning the cow and cleaning blood off the bright fur. Into the night he worked, and the next day, and the next, until he finally had hide that was suitable. He draped it over top of himself and walked.

He had been with cows his entire life. He had studied their every last movement. He _knew_ how cows trudged along, how they swayed, how they stood. He could copy their physical attributes with no problem.

But would he be able to fool a god?

He thought of this as he traveled to the springs, as he traced Dongmin’s own steps, remembering where he had often disappeared to and where he had often appeared from. It took him a while, the day wasting away above him, and as night fell, he finally found the entrance. 

It was a vast area of fog, both bright and dark at the same time, both chaotic and calming to his soul. He hid within the cow skin, moving slowly so as to not spark any unneeded attention. No one was around. No one was stopping him. He could see through two small peepholes he had bored into the skin, and he saw nothing at all. There was fog, only fog, and still he walked, determined to find his beloved.

Suddenly, then, the fog vanished. He stood not in the middle of nothingness, but upon marble flooring with great statues all around of the various gods and goddesses the townspeople worshipped to. He could name some of them, and he eyed them all with suspicion as he passed by.

No one seemed to be around, however. There were grand houses near the marble flooring, mansions that were lit up with lights. He was cautious as he stepped around them, frightened of what lay beyond, but he then heard a voice.

“Is that a cow?”

Myungjun froze. He tried to move his head inconspicuously, to glance out from one of the peepholes, but he feared the unnatural movement would cause a commotion. _Keep walking_ , he told himself, taking one deep breath and one more step.

The voice spoke again. “Mingyu, go and find Dongmin! He was talking about how much he loves cows!”

 _Dongmin?_ Myungjun stopped in his tracks again. They knew Dongmin? Were these people gods? Were they Dongmin’s family? He had heard the name _Mingyu_ before, likely spoken in passing. He was certain it was a brother. Had he really found Dongmin’s siblings? Had he stumbled across the other weavers by accident?

Another voice spoke. “Jaehyun, you know he won’t come out by himself.”

Jaehyun was _definitely_ a sibling. These were the siblings that had kept their love a secret. Myungjun could trust them.

He lifted the cow’s head. Jaehyun stood before him, and Myungjun wondered if all of the beings in heaven were that beautiful.

“I’m the cowherd,” he whispered, hopeful to keep his voice down and hopeful Jaehyun would continue to keep such a secret. “Let me see Dongmin, please.”

Jaehyun’s eyes widened. It would have been comical if Myungjun was not so frightened to be found out.

“You must’ve really tricked those who guard the heavens,” Jaehyun replied, lowering his voice, too. “I’ve not seen a human try such an impressive plot. If you had been found by someone else, they would’ve killed you.”

“That matters not. I want to see Dongmin.” 

Jaehyun hesitated briefly before nodding his head. “Alright. Yes, he...he’s been distraught. The Goddess won’t allow him back to Earth. He’s not...he’s not been the same. He longs to see you, too.” Jaehyun glanced around, and then gestured at Myungjun’s cowhide. “Put the head back down. Don’t let anyone see you. I’ll take you to him.”

They walked slowly, so as to not arouse suspicion by anyone else who might be out. Myungjun felt his heart beating harshly in his chest and he wondered if he might explode due to his nerves.

“Dongmin told us about you a while ago,” Jaehyun suddenly commented. “I believe he’s been taken by you from the start. We had to lie to everyone in order to keep it all a secret.”

Myungjun bit down on his lip. He wanted to thank Dongmin’s siblings for their willingness to protect their brother, but he knew better than to speak. He didn’t know who might be watching.

Jaehyun continued, “The Goddess figured out, though. He’s been banned from ever leaving the heavens. All he does is work at the loom. He doesn’t accompany us anywhere. He’s the most upset I’ve ever seen him. Perhaps meeting you again will liven him a bit.”

They reached a large house. Jaehyun pushed Myungjun inside and shut the door behind them quickly. “Mingyu will keep watch outside,” he murmured, lifting the cowhide from Myungjun’s body. “You’re safe for now.”

Myungjun stood, straightening himself as he examined Dongmin’s home. It was grand, with tapestries hanging from every corner of the walls, with beautiful rugs adorning the floor and statues standing guard over the treasures the home surely contained. Myungjun wanted to take a few minutes to admire all he could see, but he had come for other reasons.

“Where’s Dongmin?” he asked.

Jaehyun pointed at a door. “Through there. I’ll leave you two alone to talk. Please do not take too long; the gods might soon sense a mortal presence nearby.”

Myungjun nodded his head. It wouldn’t take long to convince Dongmin to come with him, that he was certain of. There was no way Dongmin would let him go off again. There was no way Dongmin would choose to remain in solitude.

He entered the room, peering inside briefly before closing the door behind him.

The room was vast, yet only a loom occupied the space. Here, there were no beautiful tapestries or rugs. The walls were bare and a single lantern provided light, but only just enough light to see. It was cold in this room, too, and Myungjun shivered as he stepped close to the loom.

Through the dim lighting, he could just make out Dongmin’s shape.

“Brother, please leave,” Dongmin murmured. His hands moved across fabric and threads draped over the loom. His feet pressed down on the pedals and his head remained lowered, eyes focused solely on the tapestry he was making. “I’ve told you before that I no longer wish for company.”

Myungjun swallowed thickly. “What about my company?” he asked.

Dongmin looked over to him. He was surprised, alarmed, and he scrambled from his seat at the loom. Spools of thread fell to the floor and rolled away, but Dongmin didn’t try to stop them. He stumbled forward once and then stopped himself, as if unsure of the figure in front of him. 

“Myungjun?”

Myungjun could hardly contain his joy. A burst of laughter fell from his lips and he ran forward, closing the space between them. He flung himself into Dongmin’s arms, grinning all the while. “Dongmin!” he exclaimed. “Oh, Dongmin! I’ve missed you! I’ve missed you so much!”

Dongmin gasped. He was still in shock, it seemed, but at least he returned the embrace, wrapping his arms around Myungjun and holding him as close as possible. “How...how did you get in? Mortals are not allowed to step into the heavens.”

“Cowhide! I hid in cowhide! I…” He laughed at the ridiculousness of it all and then closed his eyes. His fingers dug into Dongmin’s clothes, grasping hard, and he whispered, “Let’s leave! I will allow for myself to be seen by the gods. They will banish me. You take the cowhide and come to me. They won’t have to know. They won’t ever know. You can stay with me forever and ever and we’ll never have—”

He was interrupted with a desperate kiss, but he didn’t mind. How he had longed for this, for days and weeks and months! He wanted to feel Dongmin’s lips upon his, and so he hungrily returned the kiss. Passionately, they stood there, devouring the adoration they both spilled out before them, until Dongmin pulled back, breathless and crying.

“Jun,” he whispered, his voice bright with love. “You’ve come to find me? Jun, you’re perfect. You’re so wonderful. How have I gotten so blessed?”

Myungjun nuzzled his nose into Dongmin’s neck. “It is I who is blessed. I couldn’t live without you. I tried to move on, but a piece of me was missing.” He kissed whatever skin he could see, planting his lips all across the expanse of Dongmin’s throat. “Come home with me, Dongmin. Come and live with me. Please.”

It took him a few seconds to realize Dongmin was nodding his head frantically. “Yes! Of course I’ll come! If you pretend you’ve gotten lost, they’ll let you go freely home, and I shall follow—”

Before he could say anything else, however, the door suddenly opened. Dongmin shoved Myungjun behind him, leaving a protective hand over his chest, and they both turned to the intruder.

It wasn’t someone Myungjun recognized. This was a woman, with a bright red hanbok and robes that flowed behind her. She was beautiful and glowing, and Myungjun realized she looked similar to the statues he had seen before at temples.

She was a goddess.

Dongmin was tense before him, but he still managed to bow, bending low at the waist in order to show reverence. Myungjun stood there like a fool, unable to move out of fear. What would happen to them now? A goddess had found a mortal in the heavens. Would he be punished? Would Dongmin be punished?

“Weaver,” she snapped, her voice deeper than Myungjun had expected for it to be. “What is the meaning of this?”

Dongmin did not rise. “I was...I was just seeing him off. I apologize. It will not happen again.”

She stayed quiet. Myungjun grasped onto the back of Dongmin’s sleeve, trembling before the presence of a goddess. He didn’t know what to do or what to say. He simply returned her stare as best he could, biting his lip in order to keep it from quivering.

The goddess held up something in her hands. The cowhide, Myungjun realized with horror. She must have taken it from Jaehyun. She tossed it on the floor and asked, “Is this how you got in, human?”

Realizing he was being spoken to, Myungjun slowly nodded his head. She scowled.

“Mortals are not allowed here. I’d kill you, but—”

Dongmin straightened suddenly and pushed Myungjun even further behind him. Myungjun kept a tight hold on his sleeve, scared to lose his lover for a second time.

The goddess took a deep breath. “I cannot allow this. The human will be returned to his home. And you, Dongmin, shall be kept here forever.”

“Please,” Dongmin whispered, bold in the presence of the goddess, “let me stay with him. I love him, Goddess.”

She shook her head before Dongmin had even finished speaking. “Love between a mortal and one of us is not allowed. I have never heard of such a thing before. But, Weaver, I will remedy this. I will cut off contact from the human world completely. This union, and all other unions with mortals, is forbidden.”

“Cut off contact?” Myungjun asked, spurred by his fear to speak. She glanced at him, but not for long. Her eyes returned to Dongmin’s form. Myungjun repeated himself. “Cut off contact? What does that mean?”

“The realm between this world and yours shall disappear,” she replied, though her gaze remained on Dongmin. “I will create a river in the sky, so vast and large that there will be no way for you to reunite.”

Myungjun could hardly breathe. He gripped Dongmin tighter and begged, “Please do not! I love him, Goddess! I want to be with him forever! He means everything to me!”

His cries fell on deaf ears, however. She stepped closer and shoved Dongmin aside. Myungjun gasped as his lover was torn from his grasp.

Dongmin spun to face him, eyes wide, but the goddess then touched Myungjun’s forehead. Nothing more was said. Dongmin’s fearful expression was the last thing Myungjun saw before it all disappeared.

He was back in the barn.

Gone was the marble flooring and the giant loom and the lonely chamber. Gone was _Dongmin_ , his love, his everything.

Myungjun was alone.

He raced to the springs, his sandals lost somewhere in the mud along the way. He retraced his steps, tears streaming down his face, as he struggled to find the foggy landscape, the opening between his world and Dongmin’s. But it wasn’t there. He traveled far into the night, and yet heaven was nowhere to be found.

When he came to a clearing, away from the trees, he looked up and saw in the sky a wide berth of color, of purples and deep blues, of stars that shone brighter than ever before. 

She had truly separated them. Dongmin was there, beyond that river in the sky, and Myungjun remained on Earth, far away from his beloved.

He fell to the ground and prayed and begged, yet the river remained where it was.

Dongmin was gone forever.

⋆★⋆★⋆★⋆★⋆★⋆★⋆★⋆★⋆

Winter gave way to Spring. Myungjun helped the cows give birth all by himself. He sat with the calves and spoke to them. He told them about Dongmin. He recalled their time spent together with fondness, and as long as the sun remained in the sky, Myungjun could smile as he spoke of Dongmin.

When night fell, though, and the river made itself known, Myungjun could only cry for what he had lost.

It was those moments when he missed Dongmin so desperately. He missed his laughter and his dark eyes and his clumsy mistakes and his pretty hands. He missed being held so protectively and being kissed so fiercely. He missed being loved most of all, and he despaired that such happiness was torn from him so easily.

He found himself traveling to the temples to seek out the goddess. He prayed to Her and begged Her forgiveness. He stayed on his hands and knees and cried out, demanding She return Dongmin, demanding they be allowed to embrace each other again. The goddess remained deaf to his wishes, however, and Myungjun would always return to his hut by his lonesome. 

He was broken. He was defeated.

Spring gave way to Summer. The calves grew, their long limbs protruding from their bodies and causing them much disgrace. Myungjun laughed when they stumbled and fell. He would hoist them back up and pat their backs and guide them along their way. He didn’t speak of Dongmin as often, as he found his heart hurt too painfully, but he remembered. 

He remembered so much.

He remembered when they would bathe together in the springs, returning back to their roots. He remembered when they would eat together, simple meals that managed to leave Dongmin satisfied. He remembered when they would kiss under the stars, slow, languid movements that sent sparks flying through Myungjun’s body.

Each memory weighed on Myungjun’s mind. He trudged along through Summer, hands sore with work, silently still pleading for Dongmin’s return.

He would wear the scarf Dongmin had made for him, despite the heat of Summer. He would stare upon the patterned birds and would beg them to fly him to the heavens, to grant him the gift of immortality, so that he might reside within Dongmin’s palace. Or, he reasoned, they could easily pick up Dongmin instead, and somehow he could become mortal, and then they could stay together in Myungjun’s tiny hut, surrounded by cattle and fields and trees.

He thought all hope was truly lost when he started begging _birds_ to help, but then, one night, he was awoken to a noise at his door.

There was a knock. Two knocks. Three knocks. The knocks continued as Myungjun forced himself out of bed. 

He didn’t live close to anyone. His home was far from the village, a reclusive place that most people didn’t visit even in the daytime. Why, then, would there be a knock in the middle of the night?

He opened his door and saw birds.

There were birds everywhere. Some were near his door and others were fluttering about, but most of the birds seemed to be congregated together, spreading out their wings to create some sort of bridge.

A bridge to the heavens.

There was no river in the sky. It remained as it had before Myungjun and Dongmin had met, a dark abyss with a few scattered stars. All Myungjun could see, however, were birds. The birds led up and up and up, into the clouds and beyond.

He glanced down to one of the birds. It chirped at him. A simple chirp, really, but Myungjun understood.

“I can see Dongmin?”

The bird chirped again, an affirmative, then flew into place, finishing the bridge they had all created.

Myungjun didn’t waste another second. He was tentative as he stepped onto the bridge, afraid to kill the lovely creatures or to fall through a bridge made of tiny birds. However, they remained steadfast, as if strengthened by a celestial force. They were soft to walk on, unmoving save for the small tweets of encouragement as they egged him onward.

Myungjun raced up the bridge, his heart pounding with joy.

When he reached the clouds, he noticed someone standing at the top, staring out onto the Earth below, and Myungjun screamed out his name.

“Dongmin!”

The man turned. It really _was_ Dongmin, with the beautiful, blue hanbok and silky, black hair and eyes that contained all the love he held in his heart. They rushed to meet each other and Myungjun flung into Dongmin’s arms, laughing with great joy.

Dongmin kissed his cheek and gasped out, “Myungjun! Oh, Myungjun, the goddess took pity on us! I’ve visited Her every single day to beg for this moment, and She finally took pity on our love.” Dongmin kissed Myungjun again, obviously too overwhelmed to do much else other than stammer out proclamations of his love in between the explanations. “I love you, Jun, I do — She said we could see each other!”

Myungjun felt himself crushed in Dongmin’s arms, but he decided he wouldn’t want to live any other way. He wanted to remain in this tight embrace for the rest of eternity.

“We can see each other?” he asked, excitement overflowing in his heart. “We can see each other everyday?”

Dongmin’s grip on him loosened. He swallowed thickly. “Well,” he murmured, “not everyday.”

Myungjun blinked. “Then when?”

“We...we can see each other on this day. Once a year.”

Myungjun pulled away from Dongmin’s hug. He stared at his lover in shock. “ _Once a year?_ We can only see each other once a year? Dongmin, how can I survive only seeing you _once a year?_ ”

Now Myungjun could see the pain in Dongmin’s gaze. He could see the conflict brewing behind those gorgeous eyes, and he stumbled backwards, stepping lightly on the birds that saved him from falling. “Dongmin, how can we be satisfied with that?”

“I’m so sorry,” Dongmin whispered. “I tried. I asked for more. This is as much as She can offer us.” He looked back over the bridge, down to where the villages lay, scattered among the fields. “We immortal beings cannot fall in love with mortals. It is forbidden. That She has given us this much is...beyond belief. No other celestial being has been able to engage with mortals. Nothing more can come of this. We can only meet once—”

“I don’t want you once a year,” Myungjun interrupted, feeling tears spring to his eyes. His next words were choked out, hurried, as he struggled not to cry. “I want you all the time. I want you every single day. I want you fully and completely. I want you in my stupid hut, with all of my cattle, out in the fields and down in our spring. I want you _forever_ , Dongmin.”

Dongmin pulled Myungjun close to him again and cupped his chin. “You will have me forever. We might see each other only once a year, but it’ll be forever, Myungjun. I swear it.”

“But...but I’ll die. I’m mortal. I’ll die and we’ll have only seen each other…” Myungjun trailed off, finding the entire situation dismal and terrible. He leaned into Dongmin’s chest and breathed in his scent — fresh linen, laundry that had dried in the sun for hours. “This isn’t _fair_.”

Dongmin kissed the top of Myungjun’s head. “I’ll fight for you. When Death comes to claim you, then I will fight for your soul. I will ensure that you do not die. And then, perhaps, the gods will truly take pity on us. They might reward us for waiting so long. We will be reunited forever.”

“ _Perhaps_ ,” Myungjun repeated bitterly. He wiped tears from his eyes. “ _Might_. You’re unsure of the future!”

“Of course I am.”

“I—I don’t want to be unsure! I want to live with you forever!”

He knew he was being unreasonable. Dongmin had done all of the work to bring them closer together, and Myungjun was acting childish. Still, he couldn’t help it. He loved Dongmin too much to give him up for the majority of the year. He loved Dongmin too much to stay away.

“This is all I can do now,” Dongmin whispered. He lifted Myungjun’s chin and began to kiss away the tears that were trailing down Myungjun’s cheeks. “Forgive me, Jun.”

“I…” Myungjun sniffed. “You have nothing to apologize for. This...this isn’t your fault.”

“If I had never fallen for you, then this wouldn’t—”

“Even if it hurts, I would rather be in pain than have never known you.” Myungjun stood on his toes to kiss Dongmin again. He offered a small, watery smile and added, “Besides, you said you’d fight Death for me. I’ll expect it, then, when I finally become old.”

Dongmin returned the smile, hesitant and shaky. “Even when you’re old, though, I expect you to come and visit me on this day.”

“Of course I will. I’ll drag my frail body up this bridge and kiss you. Would you like to kiss old men?”

“I’d like to kiss _you_ ,” Dongmin teased.

They stood together for hours, basking in the glow of the moonlight, dancing in each other's arms. They kissed and kissed and kissed, until Myungjun could hardly feel his lips anymore, until stars bounced across his eyes. And as the sun began to rise, the bridge began to falter.

“We must go,” Dongmin whispered, his nose buried in Myungjun’s neck.

Myungjun, arms wrapped around his lover, whimpered lightly. “I don’t want to.”

“But we must.” Dongmin took a deep breath and drew away from Myungjun’s embrace. He kissed him again, soft and sweet and so gentle, then caressed his cheek with a smooth hand. “We will meet again, Jun. In one year, on this day, the birds shall return. They will create a bridge for us, a bridge to cross this river, and we can meet again.”

Myungjun thought their time together was far too short, but he felt the bridge swaying. The birds would soon leave. He had to go, lest he and Dongmin fall to their deaths. If this was all the goddess would allow, then he must accept it.

“I love you,” he murmured to Dongmin, stepping back.

Dongmin let his hand fall from Myungjun’s face. “I love you, too,” he repeated, his words portraying the deep pain he surely must feel.

Myungjun felt the same pain.

They parted ways as the morning light covered the lands, and Myungjun cried as the last of the birds flew away.

⋆★⋆★⋆★⋆★⋆★⋆★⋆★⋆★⋆

They continued to meet, year after year. Myungjun grew older and weaker. He feared Dongmin, in his eternal beauty, would cease to love him. But up on that bridge, they remained youthful and pretty. Myungjun’s skin would smooth and his back would straighten and his hair would return and he was eighteen again. 

And when his soul departed from the mortal realm, he was still granted the power to return to their magpie bridge, to embrace Dongmin once a year, even as the world continued to change and expand, even as the centuries passed.

They forever remained as they once were; the cowherd and the weaver.

**Author's Note:**

> hit me up on my twitter page [@vonseal](https://twitter.com/thevonseal) for spoilers and general nonsense.


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